Mary Stuart Read Online

Thou couldst sing

Then, and a great while gone it is by this

Since I heard song or music: I could now

Find in my heart to bid thee, as the Jews

Were once bid sing in their captivity

One of their songs of Sion, sing me now,

If one thou knowest, for love of that far time,

One of our songs of Paris.

MARY BEATON.

Give me leave

A little to cast up some wandering words

And gather back such memories as may beat

About my mind of such a song, and yet

I think I might renew some note long dumb

That once your ear allowed of. – I did pray,

Aside.

Tempt me not, God: and by her mouth again

He tempts me – nay, but prompts me, being most just,

To know by trial if all remembrance be

Dead as remorse or pity that in birth

Died, and were childless in her: if she quite

Forget that very swan-song of thy love,

My love that wast, my love that wouldst not be,

Let God forget her now at last as I

Remember: if she think but one soft thought,

Cast one poor word upon thee, God thereby

Shall surely bid me let her live: if none,

I shoot that letter home and sting her dead.

God strengthen me to sing but these words through

Though I fall dumb at end for ever. Now –

She sings.

Après tant de jours, après tant de pleurs,

Soyez secourable à mon âme en peine.

Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs;

Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs,

Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.

Rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux.

Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guère

Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux,

Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux;

L'amour n'a qu'un jour auprès de sa mère.

MARY STUART.

Nay, I should once have known that song, thou say'st,

And him that sang it and should now be dead:

Was it – but his rang sweeter – was it not

Remy Belleau?

MARY BEATON.

(My letter – here at heart!)

Aside.

I think it might be – were it better writ

And courtlier phrased, with Latin spice cast in,

And a more tunable descant.

MARY STUART.

Ay; how sweet

Sang all the world about those stars that sang

With Ronsard for the strong mid star of all,

His bay-bound head all glorious with grey hairs,

Who sang my birth and bridal! When I think

Of those French years, I only seem to see

A light of swords and singing, only hear

Laughter of love and lovely stress of lutes,

And in between the passion of them borne

Sounds of swords crossing ever, as of feet

Dancing, and life and death still equally

Blithe and bright-eyed from battle. Haply now

My sometime sister, mad Queen Madge, is grown

As grave as I should be, and wears at waist

No hearts of last year's lovers any more

Enchased for jewels round her girdlestead,

But rather beads for penitence; yet I doubt

Time should not more abash her heart than mine,

Who live not heartless yet. These days like those

Have power but for a season given to do

No more upon our spirits than they may,

And what they may we know not till it be

Done, and we need no more take thought of it,

As I no more of death or life to-day.

MARY BEATON.

That shall you surely need not.

MARY STUART.

So I think,

Our keepers being departed: and by these,

Even by the uncourtlier as the gentler man,

I read as in a glass their queen's plain heart,

And that by her at last I shall not die.

Scene III. Greenwich Palace

Queen Elizabeth and Davison.

ELIZABETH.

Thou hast seen Lord Howard? I bade him send thee.

DAVISON.

Madam,

But now he came upon me hard at hand

And by your gracious message bade me in.

ELIZABETH.

The day is fair as April: hast thou been

Abroad this morning? 'Tis no winter's sun

That makes these trees forget their nakedness

And all the glittering ground, as 'twere in hope,

Breathe laughingly.

DAVISON.

Indeed, the gracious air

Had drawn me forth into the park, and thence

Comes my best speed to attend upon your grace.

ELIZABETH.

My grace is not so gracious as the sun

That graces thus the late distempered air:

And you should oftener use to walk abroad,

Sir, than your custom is: I would not have

Good servants heedless of their natural health

To do me sickly service. It were strange

That one twice bound as woman and as queen

To care for good men's lives and loyalties

Should prove herself toward either dangerous.

DAVISON.

That

Can be no part of any servant's fear

Who lives for service of your majesty.

ELIZABETH.

I would not have it be – God else forbid –

Who have so loyal servants as I hold

All now that bide about me: for I will not

Think, though such villainy once were in men's minds,

That twice among mine English gentlemen

Shall hearts be found so foul as theirs who thought,

When I was horsed for hunting, to waylay

And shoot me through the back at unawares

With poisoned bullets: nor, thou knowest, would I,

When this was opened to me, take such care,

Ride so fenced round about with iron guard,

Or walk so warily as men counselled me

For loyal fear of what thereafter might

More prosperously be plotted: nay, God knows,

I would not hold on such poor terms my life,

With such a charge upon it, as to breathe

In dread of death or treason till the day

That they should stop my trembling breath, and ease

The piteous heart that panted like a slave's

Of all vile fear for ever. So to live

Were so much hatefuller than thus to die,

I do not think that man or woman draws

Base breath of life the loathsomest on earth

Who by such purchase of perpetual fear

And deathless doubt of all in trust of none

Would shudderingly prolong it.

DAVISON.

Even too well

Your servants know that greatness of your heart

Which gives you yet unguarded to men's eyes,

And were unworthier found to serve or live

Than is the unworthiest of them, did not this

Make all their own hearts hotter with desire

To be the bulwark or the price of yours

Paid to redeem it from the arrest of death.

ELIZABETH.

So haply should they be whose hearts beat true

With loyal blood: but whoso says they are

Is but a loving liar.

DAVISON.

I trust your grace

Hath in your own heart no such doubt of them

As speaks in mockery through your lips.

ELIZABETH.

By God,

I say much less than righteous truth might speak

Of their loud loves that ring with emptiness,

And hollow-throated loyalties whose heart

Is wind and clamorous promise. Ye desire,

With all your souls ye swear that ye desire

The queen of Scots were happily removed,

And not a knave that loves me will put hand

To the enterprise ye look for only of me

Who only would forbear it.

DAVISON.

If your grace

Be minded yet it shall be done at all,

The way that were most honourable and just

Were safest, sure, and best.

ELIZABETH.

I dreamt last night

Our murderess there in hold had tasted death

By execution of the sentence done

That was pronounced upon her; and the news

So stung my heart with wrath to hear of it

That had I had a sword – look to 't, and 'ware! –

I had thrust it through thy body.

DAVISON.

God defend!

'Twas well I came not in your highness' way

While the hot mood was on you. But indeed

I would know soothly if your mind be changed

From its late root of purpose.

ELIZABETH.

No, by God:

But I were fain it could be somewise done

And leave the blame not on me. And so much,

If there were love and honesty in one

Whom I held faithful and exact of care,

Should easily be performed; but here I find

This dainty fellow so precise a knave

As will take all things dangerous on his tongue

And nothing on his hand: hot-mouthed and large

In zeal to stuff mine ears with promises,

But perjurous in performance: did he not

Set hand among you to the bond whereby

He is bound at utmost hazard of his life

To do me such a service? Yet I could

Have wrought as well without him, had I wist

Of this faint falsehood in his heart: there is

That Wingfield whom thou wot'st of, would have done

With glad goodwill what I required of him,

And made no Puritan mouths on 't.

DAVISON.

Madam, yet

Far better were it all should but be done

By line of law and judgment.

ELIZABETH.

There be men

Wiser than thou that see this otherwise.

DAVISON.

All is not wisdom that of wise men comes,

Nor are all eyes that search the ways of state

Clear as a just man's conscience.

ELIZABETH.

Proverbs! ha?

Who made thee master of these sentences,

Prime tongue of ethics and philosophy?

DAVISON.

An honest heart to serve your majesty

Nought else nor subtler in its reach of wit

Than very simpleness of meaning.

ELIZABETH.

Nay,

I do believe thee; heartily I do.

Did my lord admiral not desire thee bring

The warrant for her execution?

DAVISON.

Ay,

Madam; here is it.

ELIZABETH.

I would it might not be,

Or being so just were yet not necessary.

Art thou not heartily sorry – wouldst thou not,

I say, be sad – to see me sign it?

DAVISON.

Madam,

I grieve at any soul's mishap that lives,

And specially for shipwreck of a life

To you so near allied: but seeing this doom

Wrung forth from justice by necessity,

I had rather guilt should bleed than innocence.

ELIZABETH.

When I shall sign, take thou this instantly

To the lord chancellor; see it straight be sealed

As quietly as he may, not saying a word,

That no man come to know it untimely: then

Send it to the earls of Kent and Shrewsbury

Who are here set down to see this justice done:

I would no more be troubled with this coil

Till all be through. But, for the place of doom,

The hall there of the castle, in my mind,

Were fitter than the court or open green.

And as thou goest betake thee on thy way

To Walsingham, where he lies sick at home,

And let him know what hath of us been done:

Whereof the grief, I fear me, shall go near

To kill his heart outright.

DAVISON.

Your majesty

Hath yet not signed the warrant.